Ecology

I remember How had our father been Never letting us To chop off and cut the branches Of the bela tree Breaking the tiles Of the roof Of the rented house I remember How did the ripe wooden fruit Fall on the head of the mother At the hearth underneath sliding Through the twigs and green leaves? A Siva tree, A bela tree, a fruit tree For others As they eat it The fruit, A religious tree, Do not cut you, Cut you, Said he, Said Without taking to our words, They way reasoned we And took to in a stubborn way!